"Enough, young spark. I have been too long under the ban of Scotland's accursed misrulers not to have learned caution. But I know that he who addresses me is a man of honour."
"I thank you, sir, for the compliment."
"I believe you to be honourable as I have found you brave, and will trust you when I cannot do better. I am bound for England, on the shores of which William of Orange will soon pour his legions like another Conqueror. Hark you, Mr. Fenton, we are rivals in love as we are foes in faction; and, though the goal we aim at is the same, our paths are widely different. The scene I saw and overheard this evening by the fountain, makes me long with the hatred of a tiger rather than the spirit of a Christian man to slay you; for, by the might of God! no mortal shall ever cross the path or purpose of Quentin Napier, while his hand can hold a rapier or level a pistol!
"Walter Fenton, from my boyhood, I have loved that amiable girl, and there was a time when I fondly thought she loved me too. Necessity forced me into the ranks of the Stadtholder. In the campaigns in Zealand and Flanders, amid the turmoil of war, her image almost faded from my mind; but when again we met, my memory went back to the pleasant days of our younger years—all the first hopes and fond feelings of my heart returned to their starting-place. 'Twas thou that didst destroy this spell! And well it is for thee, youth, that I am unarmed; for strong in my heart at this moment, is the power of the spirit of darkness."
"Sir," replied Walter scornfully, "this is the mere Cameronian cant of the Scots Brigade; and had I pistols——"
"The dust beneath our feet should drink the heart's blood of one or both of us! By the Heaven that hears me, it should be so!"
At that moment the balefire on the cone of Arthur's Seat suddenly burst forth into a lurid flame, and, flaring on the night wind in one broad forky sheet, seemed to turn the dark mountain into a volcano, and, tipping its ridgy outline with light, brought it forward in relief from the inky sky beyond. The turreted battlements of Heriot's Hospital, and the casements of the towering city, were reddened by the gleam, and a faint light glowed on the pale contracted features of Quentin Napier. He smiled grimly.
"How long have I looked forward to the time when yonder blaze would redden on our Scottish hills! The time hath come! Farewell," he said, grasping Walter's hand with fierce energy, while his voice became deep and hoarse; "blows will soon be struck, and we may—we must—meet in the field. When that hour comes, spare me not; for by the Power who this night heard your plighted troth, and from His throne in heaven hears us now, I will not spare thee."
"Till then, adieu," replied Walter, with something of pity mingling in his pride and scorn.
"But that you may fall by other hands than these, is the best I can wish you. You were generous once, and I respect while I abhor you."